


habits of the heart

by zebraweb



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, a lil hurt/comfort, pining a lot, very jealous geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22093096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zebraweb/pseuds/zebraweb
Summary: Of course, Geralt would stumble across the drunken bard on his travels.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 800





	habits of the heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Writing for this fandom has been one of the best! 
> 
> This is a lil oneshot i wrote as i hope to write something longer in future. Hope you enjoy!!
> 
> tw: alcohol mentions

Smoke engulfed his vision before it reached his lungs, curling into dusty clouds within his chest cavity until he was coughing. Beer, sweat and cigarettes invaded his senses as he arrived at the old tavern just west past the Temple Quarter. A contract had fallen upon his hands, a starved graveir that had encroached the mindless village after an outbreak of plague. Blood in the air and sweet, succulent corpses to devour, it had struck gold, sheltering itself in the dark, abandoned houses of the deceased.

For Geralt, it was easy money. One graveir wasn't the worst challenge he had dealt with and having sliced through its repulsive body with a silver sword, he earned more than a couple of coins to spend on drink and line his stomach for the journeys ahead.

Chatter filled the vacuum around him, entering as though a shadows on the stairs and slipping towards an empty stool at the bar. A pitcher of beer was passed to him by a busty barmaid and she looked too occupied with the antics of the rambunctious gentlemen across from her to notice the strange witcher. 

Cards spread across the tables, rickety and old from use but well washed. Candles glowed at each table bathing them in a syrupy, apricot glow. Geralt had occupied manys of tavern in his long life, seen the bar fights and feather-splaying of the men and the too-tired, strong-willed barmaids who swallowed the abuse with tight-lipped smiles. It was rare he felt character in such places, they all begin to feel the same after a while, as though cookie-cut from the same foul-smelling dough.

However, this particular tavern stirred something in his guts. Something that felt like indigestion, or nausea. A lone lute laid propped up against a stool in the corner of the hollow room. A empty case littered with measly coins, the embroidery as clear as day he could read it from across the room. Jaskier. A pain in his side, yes, but he couldn't exactly blame this one on the bard, could he?

Geralt tipped back his pitcher of beer with a few gulps and promptly ordered another one. The lady took his coins and spared him a mere second glance, as though trying to place him alongside a faint memory in her mind. It became clear why, when the bard in question pranced out of the toliets, in high spirits and ready to sing once more about the wonderful White Wolf. If only the djinn hadn't returned his voice. Although Geralt would never be so lucky. 

Jaskier basked, vibrant, dark blues coloured his clothing and he splayed himself on the stool, a peacock in all his glory. The attention must seep into his pores and illumiate his skin because he was glowing under the candlelight, eyes closed and mourning sweet, lost loves and tales of exciting adventures. Geralt wondered if he could remain cloaked all night, hidden among boisterous, red-faced, splurting men and the gorgeous women who drank them under the table easily.

Flamboyant as always, the bard was an entertainer at heart and he had the crowd howling with laughter and thumping the rhythm of his tunes into the beaten wood of the tables. Jaskier paused for his encore, slugging back a drink that looked stronger than the piss-flavoured ale Geralt was drinking and pulled himself down from the stool towards the bar. Geralt's stomach tightened and he pulled his eyes away. It wasn't illegal to simply watch quietly from afar. It wasn't as though he was doing something _wrong_ by revelling in the anonymity before he would inevitably have to deal with the barrage of questions and demands.

Jaskier was attracting all sorts of attention as he waved his coins at the barmaid, offering her saccharine words that made her roll her eyes. A lady, swarmed with a mane of rich, red hair gazed at him only metres by, lust darkening her eyes and Geralt watched her carefully. Men, two of a similar age bantered amicably to him over their mugs of ale. A blonde with elven-like features and a soft, delicate accent looked at Jaskier like he was the sun himself. Geralt's hand felt awfully tight and wet around his pint. Draining it, he kept silent and he felt awfully like he had been stalking prey.

So this was what Jaskier had been up to. Not mournfully singing tales of his absense, as Yennefer often teased, but living bountiful and surrounded by flowing embers of adoration. Neither a thought here nor there to the witcher he once glued to his side. It wasn't as though Geralt _wanted_ that, of course. Jaskier was a grown adult, he could do what or _who_ ever he wanted.

Jaskier was going heavy and hard on the liquor and clearly money didn't suit him at all. Simply not used to having some in the years where the bard's life was not well-paid and his noble family had successful cut him off, he squandered what coins he did. Plates filled with roast chicken and creamy mashed potatoes was placed in front of him and he ate as though food would never be had again. In some ways, in his profession, and Geralt could emphasise, this was always a possibily. Jaskier ate until he could burst and sang merry praise to the chef. 

It was now Geralt thought to leave, camouflaged by the moonlight and seekes to rest after days of travel. Far, far away from the infuriating bard and his ear-wrenching songs.

"Geralt!" Jaskier burst into a ball of energy, pulling himself up from the stool and with it, dragging all eyes to the witcher as he danced towards him. "How long have you been sat here, quiet and brooding, eh? Let me buy you a drink."

"Keep your coin, Jaskier." Geralt bit back instinctively. "I can buy my own beer."

Recognition flooded the barmaid's eyes finally as she placed the stranger, pouring him another pint and placing it down. Chatter slowed to a murmur in the tavern and Geralt cursed the Gods. Intrigue. Curiousity. Disgust. Jealousy.

"Fair enough, I suppose what with all these fancy, new monsters you have plenty for us both. You can buy me one and all!" Jaskier threw himself into the stool next and all Geralt could smell was that cheap, linen smell of his clothes and the alcohol still wet against his lips. How long had it been? Was it the last time they argued? Or had they fallen into each other's paths since?

Miles upon miles in the continent and still Jaskier ended up back at his side, ever the pain.

"You look tired, Geralt." Jaskier noted, pulling at his lip with two fingers as he studied Geralt's face in a way he knew the other despised. _It was like being a specimen under the microscope_ , he had complained time and time again. But really it was just an underlying fear of being properly seen. 

"If you slayed a graveir a few hours ago, you would be too. Perhaps you would want to drink in your own company without being pestered."

Jaskier let out a jolly laugh, one that came from his belly and tingled up into his lungs like bells. "I think you'll find it was _you_ , that followed me into this meek tavern, dear Geralt, following the allure of my sweet music from outside. I can't say I blame you."

Teeth bared, Geralt growled, "Jaskier." But despite his attempt at aggression it simply made the bard giggle more, drinking down the amber liquor in his glass and ignoring the curious glances thrown his way.

Jaskier was impossible, and Geralt had the spiked words leaking onto his tongue before being interupted by the same, elven-like boy from before, making goo-goo eyes at the bard all evening.

"Is this gentleman bothering you, Jaskier?" Geralt blinked up at the intrusion of the boy that looked barely half his age, trembling and skinny. It seemed even Jaskier was taken aback, lost for words for a few blessed seconds before spluttering on his drink and shaking his head vigorously.

"Oh, no, no, no. Heaven's no, nothing to worry about here! Simply catching up with my great, old friend Geralt here, Geralt of Rivia-" Jaskier blurted away nonsense, drowning out Geralt's denial of their friendship and leaving both himself and the boy red-faced. Finally, when he scampered away to drown his embarrassment, Jaskier had to gall to look coy.

"Oh my, it seems my tunes really have gone down well tonight." Knocking back his drink, it was beginning to ebb away at his nervous energy and slow him down as the alcohol began to work.

Geralt narrowed his eyes, hands still growing impossibly wet. "I don't think it was your songs he wanted to go down on."

Stammering, Jaskier lit up red in a surprising show of embarrassment unfitting to a man who quite frequently told Geralt the ins and outs of his engagements with women, despite the insistion of silence. Details of which Geralt can't erase from his mind, unfortunately.

"Don't be so vulgar, Geralt, you have no idea what you're talking about!" 

Raising an eyebrow, Geralt studied the flush growing on the bard's face and staining his cheeks. "Vulgar? You surely have noticed the way he has been staring at you like some piece of meat." Venom tinged on the words and Geralt couldn't place why. The thought of the man throwing himself over Jaskier made his stomach tighten. God, he wasn't drunk enough for this.

"Creatives like us have a high level of respect for one another and our craft, Geralt! You couldn't possibly understand!" Jaskier sang such denials until the crowd was getting rowdy for more music and Jaskier needed more beer money for the night. Stomping, he fluttered away in flash of blue and Geralt watched him, expressionless, eyes still darting slowly once in a while over to the blonde-haired boy and his friend.

It seemed the conversation had lit a fire under Jaskier's ass and he corralled the crowd into a frenzy with a merry jigg that had them dancing, arms linked and petticoats flailing. Candles began to burn low, wax dripping onto the tables and the tankards ran lower. Old men puffed on long cigars and their wives spoke in hushed giggles.

Why Geralt was still here was beyond him? He was a masochist, of course, but to stay and endure this merry madness was unlike him. Perhaps it was the several beers and lack of good food lining his stomach that made him stay- the promise of a good meal and a warm bed this evening. Or perhaps it was the state of the bard, dragging maidens up to the makeshift stage and swinging them around as if trying to prove some sort of point to Geralt. A point as to which, he couldn't really care less about.

Watching Jaskier was like watching an explosion, the first few sparks a warning sign before the room was destroyed in embers. Geralt couldn't tear his eyes away, watching the bard trip and slur drunkenly over his lute and argue with a man who told him to stop giggling and _play the damn song_. In another life, it would have been amusing. However, in Geralt's current, shit-shovelling, cursed life, this idiot bard ended up to be _his_ problem and he barged over before Jaskier could start a brawl with a man twice his height and ten times his weight.

"You're a stupid drunk, Jaskier," Geralt hissed as he pulled the bard back to his table, batting his hands away as he tried to pinch half-filled tankards from other people's tables. "You've had enough of that to last you."

"I'm just trying to have fun," Jaskier spat, his words were slurred and he slumped against the solid weight of his friend. Words so uncharacteristically harsh and sickeningly bitter that Geralt had to look twice.

"I know that and you've had quite enough fun for one night."

Swinging around like a sack of turnips in his arms, Jaskier was light but he poked a hard, heavy finger into Geralt's chest. "It's been _very fucking hard_ to have fun since _you left me_." It could have been played off as Jaskier simply being drunk and a fool, as he usually is. But when Geralt met his eyes, they were filled with a fire too rich to be false.

Swallowing, Geralt ignored the statement and made his way to the barmaid to seek a room for the night. Upon questioning he discovered the bard had already booked a room upstairs and she deposited the key into his hands with an odd gaze.

Dragging the bard and his God forsaken lute up the rickety stairs was no mean feat. Quite happily Geralt would go and slash a couple more graveirs than pull Jaskier up one measly stair at a time as he stopped and composed poems to the cockroaches on the wall. Unable to hold his liquor, as usual. It wasn't the first time Geralt had seen him in such a state and he guessed it wouldn't be the last.

"Come on, up you come," he muttered, pulling Jaskier up the final stair and he immediately slumped against the wall looking miserable.

"I feel unwell, Geralt." Jasker clutched pitifully at his head. It was like the array of alcohol was hitting him all at once, much too fast for the human body to process. It was a rare Geralt thanked his stars he wasn't human, but God, he hated hangovers.

"You had too much to drink, Jaskier, don't be dramatic." Geralt fumbled with the old lock, a rusty thing that took more force than necessary to get turned and by the time he forced it open, the bard flung himself into the room and prompty vomited all over the floor.

Disgusting. Geralt really was wondering if this was karma for all the terrible things he had done in his life, although part of him was wondering what would have happened if he had not been there. Would the blonde boy have taken Jaskier up to his room to comfort him? Or rather to take advantage of his drunken state. Geralt's fists tightened, and by God he knew the boy was barely nothing more than just that... a _boy_ , but he was seriously tempted to go back downstairs and give him a slap.

"God, Geralt, I'm sorry- I made a mess, I-" Jaskier coughed over his words, knelt down and close to irrational tears. His hair was damp and splayed across his flushed face, eyes dazed and clothes in a disarray. Even in such a mess of a man, Geralt could see the strange sort of... _well_ , it was difficult to say _beauty_ but there really was no other word. Odd. His stomach felt peculiar again, the sickening feeling like indigestion back. He should really start eating a little better.

"Up you get, stop your crying." Geralt tugged him up by the arm led him towards the washroom. Miserable, he tumbled and plopped himself on the closed toliet and Geralt sighed, pulling out a cloth and dampening it in the buckets of warm water left out for patrons. "What am I going to do with you, Jaskier?" He muttered, more to himself really but the bard's face crumpled up like a used tissue.

"I never meant to be such trouble for you, Geralt," he hiccuped over his words and sniffled as Geralt hastily wiped his face free from vomit with the wash cloth. It felt awfully like the way his mother used to and that brought back all kind of unwanted memories. "I just wanted to be your friend, to- to help but everything I do... I ruin eveything-" 

"Jaskier, stop the self pity, please," Geralt snapped, "-It really doesn't suit you." Face suitably clean, Geralt sighed and poured a glass of water from a jug. Edging into a softer- not quite pillow soft- but perhaps a rough kind of wool, he lowered his voice, "It's not true... what you said."

"Eh?" Jaskier swayed slightly and looked up at him with what only be described as a pout. "What do you mean?"

Groaning internally, Geralt shut his eyes momenarily before hoping the bard would be too drunk to remember this conversation the next day. "Not... _everything_ you do is terrible. I suppose your presence can be tolerable... _at times_." Before the bard could even begin to reply, "Now stop your yapping. I'm too tired for your nonsense."

If Jaskier was hiding a drunken smirk, well, that was just between them.

Step two was depositing Jaskier into bed and cleaning away the vomit splashed over the wooden floor. It wasn't the nicest of tasks but cleaning vomit was hardly the worst thing he'd done today and Jaskier fell amically into bed, chucking his clothes off in the process. Geralt lit the two candles of the bedside table and pulled the thin drapes, barely able to disguise the streetlights outside. Downstairs the ruckus continued, a low droll now, music muffled and jaunty. An everlasting party to match Geralt's everlasting headache.

Blessed silence at last, he perched on the edge of the bed and passed Jaskier the glass of water which he drank greedily.

Words flickered over Jaskier's mouth, Geralt could see the way his lips formed shapes then they disappeared like shadows. Twitching, he was uneasy, the words scratching at his throat like stray cats. God, just get on with it, for heaven's sake.

"Spit it out, bard."

"Would you have... hated me?" he wrung his hands under the sheets covering his body, "If- if I had responded positively to that young man's proposition?"

Where on Earth that had come from, Geralt had no idea. Perhaps he had got the wrong end of the straw when Geralt had informed him of the man's quite obvious advances, unable to quell his annoyance. However, it wasn't because he was a _man_... he simply wasn't the correct fit for Jaskier. Not that it was _his place_ to say, or anything.

"You really a fool," Geralt sighed. "I will hate you if you don't go to sleep and give me some damned peace."

Jaskier didn't respond, uneasy under the covers.

"... No, it has nothing to do with whether or not he is a man. It is of no odds to me. But you deserve better than a _slimy_ , scoundrel like him," Geralt filled in the silence at last, surprising even himself with the heat that arose from his words, spiking the hairs up at the base of his neck and drawing drops of sweat on his forehead. Perhaps Geralt had one too many drinks, also. It wasn't jealousy, _of course_ it wasn't. Jaskier was nothing more than a pain in his side, he would be glad of a little relief from him.

"Who do I deserve?" Jaskier asked in the soft silence of their room. Oddly sobered up for the moment before growing tired of waiting for a response as Geralt searched for the words, and fell into a drunken slumber, snoring loudly.

There was no answer, Geralt found as he sat there hours after the bard had fallen asleep. No answer he could breathe even in the privacy of his own thoughts. A hearty cheer from downstairs startled him slightly and the echoing strums of a now well-tuned guitar flickered ss the soundtrack of Jaskier's snores and his own, racing mind. Candlelight flickered casting shadows uneasily across his face.

He deserved much more than Geralt could ever hope to give. But it didn't stop him from wanting that, and so much more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Let me know your thoughts/opinions/concrit/prompts!!


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